


Believer of Faith and Mortality

by BurningUpASunJustToSayHello



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Case Fic, Chloe is in the know, Crime Scenes, Est. Deckerstar, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-03-26 15:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13860693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningUpASunJustToSayHello/pseuds/BurningUpASunJustToSayHello
Summary: Lucifer and Chloe's victim shouldn't be alive, but the fact that he's currently alive and giving a statement says otherwise. When more and more miracle cases begin popping up, Lucifer believes that their lives aren't being spared out of the goodness of his Father's heart. The knock at the door only proves his theory.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to the prologue! As you can see this is another multi-chapter fic, so I'm sorry in advance for the wild and uneasy posting schedule this will be operating under.

There was nothing in the afterlife, save for a blinding white path that stretched further than John could see. His gasping breaths echoed off of the darkness built like iron walls around him. The gunshot that he was certain had ended his life pinged against his eardrums on a deafening loop.

The gunshot. Penny.  _ Oh god,  _ John thought,  _ Chloe.  _

They were at home, they didn’t know what was going on. He wasn't sure _he_ knew what was going on, but what he did know was that it _not_ his time to go yet. 

John turned his back on the path and ran away from the light. The ground beneath his feet was rough, but with each stride he could feel  _ something  _ pulling him back towards the light. John pumped his arms harder, breath tearing from his magically unpunctured lungs in ragged gulps. His foot struck the ground but this time instead of feeling grit his boot fell  _ through.  _

John let out a cry as he collided with the honeyed terrain. His stomach flipped inside out when his hands met oily sludge instead of dirt, and he had to force himself to swallow the bile back down when he felt something wiggling inside of it.

The shadows uncoiled themselves from the walls, and John could have sworn there were Cheshire grins slathered across their inky faces. As they slithered closer, John struggled harder. He yanked one of his filthy hands free. With a yelp, he blindly tried once more to grab something,  _ anything,  _ to pull him out, but was only met with a splash and oily tar sliding down his throat. He coughed, but it only slid down faster, curling around his stomach and lingering in a sheen on his tongue. 

Another cough. 

A smokey set of claws drew across his cheek, one hooking the corner of his mouth and tearing the tender flesh as if it had been paper. John choked as his blood mixed with another mouthful of sludge.

He had to get out, he could feel the shadows’ hot breath on the back of his neck and the murky ground teeming with maggots. 

The sludge around him gurgled with a sickening squelch, and John sunk deeper. His heart shuddered in his chest.  _ Thump, thump, thump, out, out, out.  _ He needed out of this place, out of this  _ hell.  _ He needed to get back to Penny, back to  _ Chloe.  _

A force shoved his head under the slop, and John resisted the urge to retch as he inhaled another mouthful that reeked of sulfur and decay. He tried to flail his arms, but the thick ropes of filth sucked them back into the ground. No amount of police training had ever prepared him for whatever torture was happening now. 

The force yanked him back up by the scruff of his neck, undoubtedly pulling out tufts of hair with it. John sucked in a breath, sludge and blood sticking to the back of his throat, as he prepared for the thing to dunk him once more, but nothing came.

A hand--yes, a real  _ human  _ hand-- hauled him up by the shoulder. The rotting stench vanished and the oily strands that slicked his skin slid off of him and slithered back into their dark corners with a hiss. 

“Now what do we have here?” 

The shadows shrank back, their smiles replaced with snarls. They quivered and cowered as the voice seemed to shake the very essence of the world they resided in.

John’s eyes snapped up to the man it belonged to. They widened when he realized that  _ man  _ might not be an accurate description. Two spotless white wings loomed over the mystery man’s shoulders, glowing with deadly intensity. The man’s dark eyes were calculating as John’s gaze trekked over his body. The smirk on his lips should have come off as playful, but against the angelic wings, it was a twisted and broken thing. 

“You don’t belong here,” the man cocked his head with a startling bird-like motion, “How did you wander out here, darling?” 

John gaped at the man-- _ angel, _ with a mixture of awe and terror.

The angel’s feathers ruffled on their own accord as he stuck his hands in the pockets of his tailored slacks. “Don’t be shy, I won’t bite.” His eyes dragged their way down John’s form salaciously. “Unless you want me to, that is.”

“I--” John distractedly brought a hand to his mouth, fingers marveling over how moments ago it had been torn and seeping before continuing, “I need to get back to my family, they need me.”

Another rustle of feathers and a flash of recognition. “Mmm, didn’t want to kick off then, did you?” The angel sidled closer to him, as if they were sharing a secret.

John took a step back. “I just want to get home. Can you please help me?”

What John thought was a bolt of mangled sympathy colored in the angel’s murky eyes. He offered John a softer version of his prior smirk, and John decided he liked this one much better. It would have almost made him look more human, more  _ alive,  _ had it been genuine instead of strained around the corners.   

“You can’t go back to Earth, I’m afraid,” John’s shoulders sagged, “but, I can guide you out of Limbo,” the angel drew on. 

His head shot up. Limbo? This wasn’t hell?

As if reading his mind, the angel chuckled, displaying old laugh lines that shocked John more than they should have. “Nope, this isn’t hell. Sometimes Dad has a bit of trouble with the whole ‘weighing your heart’ thing when humans don’t want to die. It’s rare, but sometimes you lot end up stuck here. It’s even rarer that I catch one of you before the beasties snatch you up.” John winced and shot a look at the shadows that had almost devoured him. They returned the favor by gnashing their fangs.

The angel loosed a hand from his pocket and offered his arm in an oddly gentlemanlike fashion. “Shall we?”

John blinked. “What?”

“To Heaven,” he responded through the same brittle smile. 

“I need to go home!” John shouted. Limbo seemed to tremble at his outburst.

The angel dropped his arm, face hardening. “You  _ can’t.”  _

John bit out a frustrated growl. “I have to! I have a wife, a  _ daughter!  _ I can’t just  _ leave  _ them!” 

“Oh spare me the details,” the angel muttered, eyes rolling dramatically, “I’ve heard all of it before.”

“You don’t  _ understand--”  _

A steely hand squeezed his shoulder hard enough to bruise. When he looked up, the angel’s eyes were boring right into his soul. “No I’m afraid  _ you  _ don’t understand. You get one measly life to do as you please and then my father grinds you back into the ash that he created you  _ apes  _ from. That's the deal. So another wretched soul ended yours a bit early? What’s another few decades to put off the inevitable? Save the sob story, because I’ve heard millennia of them, and yours is about as vanilla as they come. So if you’d like to make your pretty way to heaven, it’d be in your best interest to stop now before you really piss me off.”

The angel released John with a shove.

He watched with guarded eyes as the angel huffed and began fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. Tense silence clogged the air. 

“...Do I have to hold onto you to get there?” John finally asked.

The angel’s stony frown melted into one of quiet annoyance. John hoped he’d accepted his question as an apology.

“I suppose not,” he sighed, and without another word, set off towards the light.

John had to jog to catch up to the angel. He knew he was no short man, but  _ goddamn  _ did the angel tower over him. 

“So, ah, you said you come out here often?” he asked, trying to keep the unsettling silence that dripped from Limbo’s atmosphere at bay.

The angel’s smirk returned and John accepted that it must be a common expression for him. “No, I come here when I need to think. I like the quiet.” 

As if on cue, the silence was quick to fill the space after his words. Said words had been clipped, but John took it as an improvement from where they had stood a few minutes before. He decided to push his luck a little further. “What are you thinking about?” 

The angel shot him a dismissive glance. “Why you’re asking so many questions.” 

John didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I’m thinking about taking a vacation,” the angel continued softly after a few moments.

“That sounds nice.”

“Mmm, it does, doesn’t it?” 

“Well if you need a recommendation, you should try LA,” John said with Penny and Chloe’s images plastered in the back of his mind. 

The angel glanced down again, this time with curiosity tinging his countenance. “LA?” The word rolled off his tongue as if it were foreign to him.

“Yeah, you know, Los Angeles?”

“The City of Angels? How fitting,” another chuckle rumbled in the angel’s chest. Suddenly, as if stopped by an invisible barrier, he halted, the last of his chuckles dying away in favor of curious detachment. “We’ve arrived, it seems.”

John paused mid-step, he’d been so invested in the conversation he’d barely noticed that they’d reached the end of the path. The light was almost blinding, and he had to put up a hand to shield from the glare. But despite the brightness, John found himself getting lost in the soft white glow--or was it yellow? Maybe blue? Purple--no, he shook his head; it didn’t matter. 

The light was hypnotic, whispering muddled phrases in jumbled languages that John could  _ almost  _ make out, but not quite. He feet took an unconscious step forward, but paused when he didn’t feel the angel’s presence beside him. Turning back over his shoulder, he saw the angel, wings folded more rigidly down his already ridged spine, and chin lifted slightly. 

“Aren’t you coming?”

The angel crossed his arms. “‘Fraid not.” His smirk had stretched so thin, John feared it’d shatter.

The light was growing brighter and the angel’s form began to waver. John felt a tug on his hand. It was a different tug than before, though. This time it was almost inviting, and the presence had considerably less claws than the last.

“Will I ever see you around?” 

The sad smile he got in return answered the question for him. John put out his free hand in one last friendly gesture. “I’m John.”

The angel considered his outstretched hand before reciprocating the motion. “It has been a pleasure then, Jonathan.” His name was gentle on the angel’s tongue. 

John gave his guide one last smile and let himself walk into the light, thinking to himself about how he’d never caught the angel’s name. 


	2. The Struggler

Knife wounds were terribly messy things, Lucifer had the destroyed Armani to prove it too. The man with the switchblade protruding from his chest was no exception to this, if the nasty gash and three other half-dried stab wounds were anything to go by.

Lucifer leaned over Chloe’s shoulder to get a better look. If her blue gloves hadn’t been coated in the same half-crusted over blood as their victim, he would have run a finger down the inside of her wrist. But instead, he kept his hands and fingers to himself. He had no desire to ruin the third Prada of the month.

“I’m thinking mugging, you?” Chloe looked expectantly up at him from her spot next to the body.

Lucifer traced the outlines of his new cufflinks, desperately dragging his eyes over the wounds. “Whatever you think darling.” He slipped on a smirk to try and convince her that yes _indeed_ he had been paying attention.

Chloe stood despite the sigh that seemed to drag her shoulders to the pavement. “Lucifer,” she said in that warning tone she knew he hated.

He raised his brows against it. “ _Detective.”_

Chloe smothered the taunt hidden in his words with a glare, and Lucifer knew he’d hear about it later. Just as she opened her mouth to undoubtedly remind him of that, a wheeze cut her off.  

Then a cough.

Chloe’s eyes grew wide.

“Lucifer,” the warning edge had drained away like the blood from her face, “please tell me you at least paid attention enough to confirm that our vic was _actually_ dead _.”_  

A hollow scoff escaped him. “Of course.”

His heart stopped. Something was wrong.

Chloe’s eyes bored into his with a petrifying intensity. In their depths, Lucifer saw a silent plea.

_Look down._

Something was _very_ wrong.

Lucifer let his gaze shift stiffly towards the sound.

“Chloe, what the _bloody_ ... _”_ his words died in his throat when he finally saw it.

A foot away from his Louis Vuittons was the gasping form of Nicholas Keller--their would-be victim. That is, if he had been as dead as he’d been two minutes before. Red-tinged spittle was gathering at the corners of his dry mouth and his stiff hands flailed around the hilt of the knife.

Instead of helping the gurgling bastard, Lucifer just stared at his gasping body. He should have been dead. And he wasn’t saying that because he _had been_ two minutes ago. No, Nicholas Keller _should be_ dead. Nicholas’s soul had already left his body when he had arrived.

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed into slits. Whatever this was, it was far from a miracle. His Father didn’t do take-backsies. When a soul went over the threshold, it wasn’t allowed to come back; that was the _deal._

Chloe rushed to secure Nicholas’s failing body. “We need an ambulance over here!” she shouted to the dumbstruck forensic interns. “Lucifer, a little help!”

Her body had flattened his left arm, but his right flailed free like a live wire. Just before his bloodied fingers could wrap around the handle, Lucifer snatched Nicholas’s hand away.  Nicholas clawed bloody gouges into his unprotected skin. With a stinging hand and a grunt, Lucifer finally managed to pin it to the ground.

“Mr. Keller--” Chloe tried to placate over his rising panic.

“Can’t... _breathe_ ,” he choked out, blood continuing to stain his lips.

“I advise you calm down Nicholas, yanking out a knife is a dreadful thing to do,” Lucifer told him, a sense of growing dread buzzing in his ears.

Nicholas’s body bucked.

Lucifer tightened his grip. The gouges in his skin smarted, but he was too busy restraining the _very impossibly alive_ man to care.

_Not good,_ definitely _not good,_ he told himself.

Whatever Nicholas had been before the stabbing had died. Lucifer didn’t know what had been sent back over the threshold in his place. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human. It _couldn’t_ be.

The thought made his body go cold.

“ _Please,”_ Nicholas wheezed in between wet coughs.

By that point a few interns had managed to hold down his other limbs, and one of them had even gone as far as to _sit_ on his shaking legs.

“Did someone call the paramedics?” Chloe said over Nicholas's gurgling. The girl on his legs grunted out a confirmation. “Lucifer you okay?”

Lucifer tore his eyes away from the knife. When he saw Chloe’s concerned look, he pasted on a quick smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Chloe opened her mouth, but her reply was cut off by the wail of an ambulance siren. Together, they watched Ella run to meet the paramedics, hands gesturing wildly as she spoke, the camera around her neck jerking along with them. The man on her right craned his neck, looking over Ella’s shoulder, as another paramedic hurried over to them.

Nicholas let out another pained whimper, body finally going limp with exhaustion. Lucifer loosened his grip a fraction of an inch, and when Nicholas’s arm stayed firmly on the pavement, he let go entirely.

The buzzing had moved from his ears to his brain in the form of a pounding headache.

Something was wrong, Lucifer just didn’t know _what._

The moment he saw Nicholas’s bloody, very _alive_ body, he’d felt something shift. It was just barely noticeable that when he first felt it, he’d brushed it off as nothing. Maybe a change in pressure, signs of a storm or some future cold snap. But the searing pain in his temple told Lucifer that that wasn’t the case.

Then there had been the not-so-dead man himself. A metallic smell clung to his clothes, and it had taken Lucifer a moment to realize what it was, and when he did, he almost gagged.

Nicholas’s breath reeked of the Silver City. Not just stank, _reeked._ The smell seemed to permeate from his body, as if it was seeping from very _pores_ of his skin.

Lucifer brought a hand to his nose to try and mask it, only to choke. He tore it away, staring wide-eyed at the blood and broken skin. It stank nearly as badly as Nicholas himself.

He swallowed bile and a shaky breath. Lucifer yanked the pocket square from his breast pocket. He smothered his nose in the cool silk, inhaling the familiar scent of the penthouse in jagged gulps.

His heart felt like it was turning in on itself. The buzzing was making his head fuzzy. His Father had broken the de--

“Hey.” A soft hand squeezed his shoulder.

Lucifer’s eyes snapped towards the voice.

Chloe stood over him, soiled gloves discarded and strands of escaped hair hanging in her face. Her blue eyes darkened when his response caught in his throat.

She knelt down, hand moving to cup his face. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Lucifer let the hand holding the handkerchief drop into his lap. He sniffed, the stench of the Silver City had been overpowered by something sharp and clean. His brow furrowed when he realized Nicholas Keller’s body was nowhere in sight.

“What--?”

Chloe’s thumb traced his jawbone. “You’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes. I went to go clear some stuff up with the paramedics, and when I turned around to ask you something, you weren’t there.” Her voice grew softer. “Is everything okay?”

Lucifer gently pried her hand off and stood. “Yes, everything’s fine I just…” he paused. There was no way he could explain just how _wrong_ this was. That his Father had broken the most important rule in the book. “...I just have a headache,” he finished not as smoothly as he’d liked.

Chloe drew herself up to her full height. There was a knowing look on her face. She brushed a hand down his arm. “Tell me later?”

Lucifer sighed.

As much as it pained him, Chloe needed to know what was happening. He couldn’t let her wander into this blindly. Especially not when his Father was involved.

He nodded.

Chloe nodded back. “Good. Now we have to get back to the station. We’re going to need all of the help we can get on this case.”

  
  


Dan skidded to a stop in front of Chloe’s desk. Chloe shot out of her seat, hurriedly grabbing the chairback for support when her legs seemed to wobble with exhaustion. Lucifer reclined back further in his chair, his brain still trying to make sense of Mr. Keller. He doubted that Dan, no matter how puzzling his run-in with Azrael’s blade had been, would have an answer as to why his Father sent a soul back over the threshold. He stared mournfully at the ceiling as if the answer was hidden somewhere in the cheap tiles.

The buzzing in his head had since quieted into a dull roar, leaving him with _just_ enough of an ache to be annoying.

Lucifer fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Finding out that Hell froze over without him would be less confusing than _this_.

“I got your text,” Dan said to Chloe. “What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Keller is back from the dead,” Lucifer muttered absently, eyes now tracing the water stain in the leftmost tile. When it told him nothing, he heaved himself back up, elbows resting heavily on the papers cluttering Chloe’s desk. He winced as his headache responded to the sudden change with an angry stab of pain.

“Wel--” Dan’s eyes widened, finally seeming to process what Lucifer just said. “Wait _what?_ ” He shook his head. “No. There’s no way a guy with a knife in his chest is alive.”

Chloe crossed her arms and leaned heavily against her desk. “Yeah well I guess there is because Lucifer and I just spent ten minutes trying to pin him down so he wouldn’t pull it out.”

“You’re actually serious about this?” Dan took the file from Chloe’s hand and leafed through it. “It says here he’d been pronounced dead for _three hours.”_

“Trust me it didn’t _feel_ like he was dead,” Lucifer said darkly, holding up his injured hand.

Even after Ella had cleaned it up and slathered it in antibiotic cream, it looked menacing. Nicholas had dug three distinct lines into his skin, along with a few other smaller scratches circling his wrist. It still stung, but Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to stand up and walk the proper distance away from Chloe to heal it. In fact, he couldn’t really bring himself to do anything. After Chloe had all but picked him up off the ground, Lucifer felt sluggish. The exhaustion made him irritated and cagey, and he was half-tempted to just let Patrick take care of Lux tonight. The idea of entertaining a bachelor party seemed dreadful, but he didn’t trust anyone but himself to do it.

Dan made a sound of acknowledgement, pulling Lucifer back to the present. “Damn, Nicholas really did that?”

“He was a struggler,” Lucifer confirmed.

“Shit.”

Lucifer hummed in agreement.

“Basically we need as much help as we can get on this.” Chloe said to Dan. “There were at least twelve witnesses including me and Lucifer who saw the guy come back from the dead.”

Dan riffled through the file again. “I guess I can look into it. Shouldn’t this go to robbery though? Now that the guy is technically _alive_.”

Chloe shrugged uselessly. “Nobody’s taken me off the case yet, so I guess not.”

Her phone trilled from the edge of her desk. Lucifer swiped it before it could make it through the second ring.

“Dispatch,” he read aloud.

Chloe took it and dragged a thumb across the green button. “Decker.” She listened to the voice on the other end, her mouth hardening into a thin line. “Another one? Where?”

Dan shot Lucifer a look, and Lucifer’s jaw tightened.

_Not good,_ that look told him.

They listened to Chloe’s brief responses, straining to hear what the operator was saying on the other end. After a few more minutes, Chloe scratched an address down on a loose paper, and hung up.

Lucifer raised his brows expectantly, stealing a glance at the address.

“Another one what? Another guy back from the dead?” Dan asked.

“Yeah, we gotta go,” Chloe said, reaching for her car keys. “Lucifer?”

Lucifer stood. “Coming,” he said with faux bravado, hoping she wouldn’t pick up the weariness that sat under it.

Dan pored over a picture he found in the file. “I’ll look at this while you’re gone. Keep me posted.”

Chloe started for the stairs, leaving Lucifer to catch up. “I will, bye!” she called over her shoulder.

When they made it to the parking garage, Chloe rounded on him. She leaned into the cruiser’s door, effectively blocking him in.

“Okay you’re acting weird,” she said, voice falling into the same tone Lucifer heard her use with Trixie.

So she _had_ noticed, the damn perceptive woman.

Nevertheless, the nervous words spilled out before he could stop them. “Would you rather I stayed home tonight?”

The keys in Chloe’s hand jingled. “What does that have to do with anything? Lucifer, running Lux is your job, why wouldn’t I be okay with you going tonight?”

Lucifer crowded into her personal space, so only she would hear what he said next. “Please Detective, you’re _sure_ you don’t want me have Patrick take care of things tonight?” His fingertips ran up her wrist, trying to get rid of the anxiousness in his veins more than trying to persuade her.

Chloe’s eyes narrowed and bored into him, until Lucifer felt like a suspect himself. “Is this about our vic coming back from the dead?”

His fingers lingered on her palm. “Actually, Detective, yes it is. Souls getting free passes back over the threshold doesn’t just happen. My Father had a _deal.”_

Her face relaxed a fraction of an inch. “It’ll be fine,” she soothed.

“But--”

She cut him off. “No buts. Even if it _is_ your dad, that doesn’t mean it has something to do with me. Sometimes things just are how they are.” She sighed, finally leaning into him rather than the car. “Look, if it bothers you that much we can talk about it.” Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up hopefully. _“When you get home,_ ” Chloe clarified.

“ _Fine,”_ he said, not trying to hold back the pout. He released her wrist and Chloe stepped away, finally letting him open the passenger side door.

They drove to the crime scene in silence, but Lucifer couldn’t say he minded it. His headache had returned in full force, undoubtedly worsened by his worrying.

When rubbing his temples did nothing, Lucifer leaned against the window. The glass was cool from the air conditioning, and if anything it offered relief from the glaring sunbeams poking through the tinted windshield.

“You still have a headache?” Chloe asked softly.

Lucifer closed his eyes and hummed an affirmative.

“Do you want something for it? You’re with me so it’ll probably work.”

For a moment, Lucifer was surprised that she brought up his mortality. His mind then reminded him that Chloe had known the truth for at least a year. It even flashed the memory of her shocked face across the backs of his eyelids for good measure.

Lucifer screwed his eyes shut tighter, as the memory brought on a new wave of pain. “I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

“Well I’m driving so you’re gonna have to get it. It’s in my bag, middle pocket.” As Lucifer reached to rummage through Chloe’s bag, she continued to talk. “It might be a migraine if it’s that bad. Can you even get migraines?”

Lucifer pulled out the pill bottle, the pills clattering against the plastic. “I’m not sure. Last month you vomited your guts up all over me, and I never got the stomach flu. So perhaps not?” He swallowed the pills dry, feeling the familiar dry burn of the coating slide down his throat.

Chloe made a face. “I guess not.”

They pulled up on the crime scene, and their conversation faded away.

Lucifer followed Chloe, weaving through a wide-eyed forensic team and clusters of police equipment, until they both stopped in front of their second would-be victim. Unlike Nicholas, the paramedics were already on scene and helping lift the woman onto a gurney. A dark red blood splotch had bloomed over her left breast, undoubtedly from a gunshot wound.

“Can you guys believe this?” Ella called a few feet away. “It _has_ to be a miracle. There’s _no_ way she could have survived this otherwise.”

Lucifer frowned and made his way to stand next to her. “I assure you, my father doesn’t just _create_ miracles, Miss Lopez.” His gaze unconsciously shifted to where Chloe stood, speaking with the victim. “Trust me.” 

“So are you feeling better now?” she said abruptly.

Lucifer glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, confused. “What?”

Ella smiled. “Your hand?”

Lucifer stared blankly at his injured hand, before remembering that it had been Ella who patched it up. “Oh. Yes thank you for cleaning it up,” he said, still half-distracted by Chloe walking towards them.

“Vic’s name is Maria Poncé. She was shot about an hour ago, and says she doesn’t remember anything in between the shooting and the paramedics arriving,” Chloe read off her notepad. She turned to Ella. “Did you see her come to?”

Ella shook her head. “Nope, but I certainly heard her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean she was coughing up a lung--which okay understandable. She got shot, and the bullet must have just missed her heart so my guess is it definitely nicked a lung on its way out. Can you image getting shot, thinking you’re dead, and _bam.”_ Lucifer and Chloe jumped. “The Big Guy says ‘nope not today’ and sends you back.”

“Right, but my father doesn’t just “ _send you back,’”_ Lucifer tried to explain again.

Ella shrugged, clearly unphased. “Change of heart then.”

“Well anyways, they’re taking Maria to the hospital. She’s going to be in surgery for awhile. The bullet is still lodged in her chest, and she’s probably going to be under well into the evening,” Chloe cut in.

Ella blew out a breath in mock exhaustion. “Man back to the lab for me then. I have some skin samples calling my name. See you guys tomorrow.” She gave Chloe a quick hug, before running off.

“Do you want me to drop you off at Lux? It’s almost eight,” Chloe asked, taking a step closer to Lucifer.

He sighed, the headache pounding in response. “You’ll text me if anything happens?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. “ _Lucifer._ ”

“Fine, yes. I suppose you can.”

“And when you come home, we’ll talk about whatever this is okay?” she said softly.

“Is that a deal, Detective?” He let a hint of teasing into his voice.

Finally, Chloe’s mouth split into a real smile. “No it’s a promise.”

  
  
  
It was 1:34AM and Chloe still didn’t know how Lucifer stayed up this long, celestial or not. But still, Chloe had promised to talk after Lux closed. She’d spread all of the case notes out on the couch and coffee table and anywhere else there was space, determined to make at least _some_ progress while she waited.

So far all she’d accomplished was calling Dan about his research, and checking off two alibis. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Still, “something” wasn’t going to figure out the connection between the two vics and _why_ for the love of Lucifer’s dad they had come back to life.

She’d just made a cup of coffee when a knock at the door sounded. Chloe set it on the counter and checked her phone.

No text from Dan or Maze.

Weird.

If it was Lucifer, he would have just opened the door, no knocking required. Lux didn’t even close until four and she hadn’t heard the Corvette rumble up either.

Grabbing her gun off the countertop, Chloe carefully made her way to the door. She tried the peephole first.

Nothing.

Even weirder.

A shiver ran down her spine. Chloe clicked the safety off, and slowly cracked the door open.

What or rather _who_ was on the other side made her skin crawl and stomach knot. Her hands trembled, and the handgun fell to her side. The nagging feeling that something was clearly _wrong_ was shattered by a single word.

Chloe gulped. Her throat was dry, and her eyes stung with unshed tears.

“Dad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pats and cats to moonatoms and titc! (And if anyone is reading moon's Doctor AU just know that this chapter saved Chloe's life...for now)


	3. The Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: the emotional dumpster fire itself (and no, I'm not talking about Lucifer this time).

Chloe’s hands shook as she poured the wine, somehow just barely managing to keep any from spilling on the counter. She forced herself to keep her mind on the task. It was  _ imperative  _ for her sanity to keep watching the wine. It was two grand a bottle, according to Lucifer. 

God  _ Lucifer.  _ The reason she was awake to answer the door. The reason John Decker was sitting on her couch.

_ No,  _ bad Chloe, she chided herself, don’t think about him. Just keep thinking about the wine.

But she could only pretend to be distracted for a few more moments. The second glass was almost full and Chloe knew she couldn’t avoid this forever. Finally, she finished pouring.

Drawing in a deep breath, Chloe let herself look at her father. He looked exactly as she remembered him, the same soft eyes and smile lines outlined his face. Her stare drifted down to his chest and tears began to well up.

There was no bullet hole. No blood spatters, no gauze, and no sign of the suit they’d buried him in. It was just  _ him.  _

Chloe blinked away her tears, and began to walk out of the kitchen. At the sound of her footsteps, John looked up from the crime scene photos still scattered around the room.

_ Same soft eyes,  _ she reminded herself, as their eyes met. Chloe quickly handed him a glass, before snatching her phone off the coffee table.

“I’m gonna make a quick call,” she said, voice tight with emotion. 

John eyed the phone and nodded. “Okay, Monkey.”

A bolt of recognition shot through her. The cool she’d been barely managing shattered.

And then she ran. She fumbled with the lock on the patio door. Ripping it open, Chloe bolted out into the night air. Her hand slipped on the handle, and the door slammed shut, rattling the frame.

As the noise faded into the sounds of the city, Chloe felt her legs wobble. She walked all but two steps before collapsing in the wet grass. Her wine sloshed on her hand and soaked her jeans, but all Chloe could do was numbly drain the rest of the glass.  

When it was gone, she felt lightheaded. Her heartbeat was skipping left and right. She tried to take deep breaths to drown out those words. Those familiar,  _ heartwrenching  _ words.

Her lungs burned and a frustrated sob tore from Chloe’s throat when she realized she  _ couldn’t breathe.  _

In the back of her mind, Chloe knew if she didn’t calm down, she’d start hyperventilating, but  _ God. _ Those two words were strangling the life out of her. She dropped her phone and brought her free hand to her chest. Her breaths grew heavy and short, and she was certain  _ something  _ was forcing its way up her throat.

With one final frantic whimper, all of the tears and hysteria that Chloe’d bottled up for two decades spilled out. She clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle to the sound, but it only made her sob harder. Her other hand squeezed the wine glass stem, some part of her hoping it would shatter so at least she could feel something other than  _ this.  _

More tears streamed down her cheeks when the glass stayed cold and whole in her palm. Chloe let her head fall back, and welcomed the dizziness that came with it. 

The night was clear, and through the film of tears, Chloe could just barely make out the brightest stars in the sky. She dragged a hand across her nose, wiping away tears and snot, not caring that it smeared into her shirt sleeve. 

Chloe wasn’t sure how long she stared at the stars. Her head felt fuzzy from crying, and her eyes were swollen with more unshed tears. She sniffled and reached for her phone. Instead of shaking like they had before, her hands felt heavy and filled with cotton. Still, she managed to dial the one person who she knew would be awake.

Once the dial tone sounded, Chloe put it on speaker, and let her forehead rest heavily on her wrist.

“Detective?” Lucifer’s tinny voice called through the phone’s speakers. His obvious worry was muffled by Lux’s nighttime crowd.

“Hi,” she said weakly, hoping he couldn’t hear how scratchy her voice sounded.

“Darling what’s wrong?” 

Of course he’d noticed, Chloe thought, she sounded terrible. She tried to giggle, but it stuck in her throat. “Why did you assume something’s wrong?”

The background noise quietened, telling her that he’d moved to one of the private upstairs booths. “Chloe what’s going on? Do I need to come out there?” His voice was higher than it had been when he’d answered. 

She felt the wine in her stomach sour. “No--I--” How was she going to explain this to him when she barely understood it herself? When she’d first opened the door to see her  _ deceased  _ father standing there, she’d slammed it in his face. Only when she’d heard him call her name had Chloe let him in. 

“Chloe?” Lucifer’s voice was reaching frantic now.

“My dad’s back,” she blurted out.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Lucifer was so quiet, Chloe could hear the pounding bass and the drunken conversation from the next booth over. “What?” he finally said, tone hard and flat.

“My dad’s back.” This time her voice broke. She sniffled again, trying to keep the angry tide of emotion from spilling out of her again.

“Your dad’s back,” Lucifer repeated slowly.

Chloe nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah I--I got--there was a knock at the door. I answered it and it was my dad.” She gulped down the lump in her throat. “Lucifer I don’t know what to do, he’s been dead for like twenty years, and now I don’t even know how he’s back, and what to tell Mom and Trixie and--”

“Detective, I’m coming over there.”

Chloe stood up frantically, as if it would stop him somehow. “ _ No!” _

The pause told her Lucifer was taken aback by her outburst.

She took a deep breath and started again. “No,” she continued much calmer. “Finish your set. I want some time to talk to him--alone.”

“Darling--” 

“ _ Please."  _ Her intensity surprised her. She’d been so caught up with the  _ how  _ and the  _ why  _ she hadn’t even thought about what this really meant. Her  _ dad  _ was  _ alive.  _ She could see him and touch him and he was  _ real.  _ For all Chloe knew this was the end of spending time in the dingy graveyard where his headstone sat, and having to walk past the plaque with his name on it every day. 

A kernel of guilt buried itself in her mind as Chloe remembered how skeptical she’d been of his appearance. She needed to go back in there.

“I have to go,” she said abruptly. “ _ Please  _ stay and finish your set, I love you.”

Lucifer sighed. Chloe imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose in defeat. “I love you too. Be safe. And--”

“If anything else happens I’ll call,” she finished. “Bye Lucifer.”

“...Bye.” 

Chloe hung up. She took one final breath, and looked around the yard. The light pollution bathed the patio furniture in a dusky yellow glow that reminded her of the streetlights outside her parents’ house. Wiping her eyes again, she opened the door. 

John stared at her when she came back into the living room, undoubtedly studying her puffy, red eyes and wine stained jeans. Chloe didn’t say anything as she sat down next to him, the bottle of wine she’d grabbed off of the counter clinking against her empty glass. She poured herself another glass, trying to ignore his presence and her pounding heart. 

“I was calling my partner,” she finally said after recorking the bottle. Chloe threw her phone onto the coffee table and drew her knees to her chest, something she hadn’t done since her dad was alive.

“Oh?” The tenderness in his voice made Chloe tense. 

“Yeah, he’ll be here later.” 

“What kind of partner are we talking?” She could hear the gentle teasing in his voice.

Chloe finally let herself look at him. “We work together, but we’re also… _ together.”  _ There was no use hiding it, Chloe figured. He would find out one way or another, and she’d much rather him know that detail  _ before  _ he accidentally found them in bed together. Chloe found herself grinning at the memory of her sixteen year old self forgetting to lock the bedroom door, and John walking in on her making out with Jeremy Davenport. 

John smiled back at her, as if he too was thinking back to that day. It was in that moment that Chloe could almost let herself believe she was sixteen again. Like it was just another Wednesday night, like her dad was sitting on the couch with her, like a normal family, living a normal life. 

“I can show you a picture,” she suggested as awkwardly as she had when sixteen year old her had asked him to close the door.

John took a thoughtful sip of wine. “Yeah, sure.”

Even before he’d said anything, Chloe had already grabbed her phone and began scrolling through her photo gallery. She already had the perfect picture in mind: a selfie Lucifer had taken of the two of them after the precinct’s annual Christmas charity ball. Chloe had twined her arms around his neck, face rosy with sangria and smushed against his stubbled one. 

She turned the screen towards John, who took it with his free hand. A look that Chloe couldn’t read flashed across his face as he stared at the picture, and more specifically, at Lucifer. After a few moments, John blinked and the look was gone, replaced with one of sad pride. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered as his eyes traced the elaborate updo that Lucifer, of all people, had pinned her hair into. 

This time, the smile came easily to her lips. 

John’s hand shook, and the phone fell. At the last moment, he snatched it up, bumping the screen as he went. The picture switched to one of her, Dan, and Trixie. Chloe watched as his brow furrowed in confusion.

“That’s my daughter and ex husband.” 

Chloe choked on the word  _ ex,  _ suddenly embarrassed by its implications. Her parents had been married for twenty five years before John died; Chloe had given up after only eight. 

To her surprise, John didn’t even seem to care. Instead, his face lit up. He gave her the brightest smile of the night, his crow’s feet crinkling even more than usual. “I’m a grandpa?” 

All she could manage to get out was _mhmm._ The tears threatened to well up again, and she sniffled to hold them in. “Her name’s Trixie, short for Beatrice.”

His thumb reached out to stroke Trixie’s smiling face, accidentally swiping back to Lucifer’s selfie. John blinked in surprise. He handed the phone back to Chloe, seemingly not wanting to break the touchscreen. 

“Can I meet her?” 

“Yeah, of course,” the words were out of her mouth before her brain could register what she’d just agreed to. She continued to speak, hoping it would distract her from all of the  _ what ifs  _ beginning to pop up. “She’s at Dan’s for the rest of the week, though. He took her so I could work on my case.”

The warm glow in John’s eyes flickered out momentarily. “Case?” He glanced down at the case photos, as if just making the connection. Grabbing the one closest to him, a close-up of Nicholas’s stab wounds, John inspected it with careful eyes. 

It was only when he looked back up at her, did Chloe tell him. “I quit acting.”

“You’re a cop?” he asked softly.

“Homicide detective,” she corrected wearily, hoping her face didn’t look as terrified as she felt. She prayed he wasn’t disappointed, she was too raw to be able to handle it tonight. 

When John glanced back at the photo Chloe felt her stomach drop, and she desperately finished off her second glass of wine. His face seemed to harden, and Chloe wished she could hide away and bury her head in the sand so she’d never have to see that expression again.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to try and do damage control, John wrapped her up in a hug. She returned it instantly, almost out of habit. A long, out of practice habit, but a habit nonetheless. One she hoped when he’d passed that she’d never forget.

“I’m so proud of you, Monkey.”

Chloe shuddered, remembering way back when Lucifer had said almost the exact same thing. “You are?”

John pulled back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Of course I am.” The look in his blue eyes was so sincere, Chloe thought they might shatter just as her life had the moment his lifeless body had hit the floor. 

Right. His body. Her dad had been dead for seventeen years. Chloe had to remember that.

The warm feeling of comfort that had been so inviting a moment ago drained out of her body. In its place, cold, lifeless doubt numbed her limbs. 

The other “zombies”, as Ella had started to call them, had only been dead a few hours. How could her dad, of  _ all  _ people, come back to life? It stung to admit that maybe Lucifer had been right, this was all  _ too  _ coincidental. Too weird.

John’s hands tightened gently on her shoulders, and Chloe frowned. 

“How did you get here?” she asked, brain switching into detective mode.

John’s expression faltered, and his hands fell limply into his lap. “What do you mean?”

A warning bell chimed in the back of her mind, and Chloe forced her tone to stay neutral. “How are you  _ here?  _ In my apartment, in this city,  _ in my life?”  _

_ Dammit _ , she mentally kicked herself, her voice had slipped at the end.

Something bitter twisted itself in her stomach. Some part of her regretted not letting Lucifer rush to the apartment. What had she been  _ thinking?  _ She didn’t even know if the man sitting across from her really was her father.  

Chloe internally shuddered at that thought. For once, she was glad Trixie was with Dan.

John sighed, drawing her attention back to him. “I...don’t know, Monkey. I just woke up a few blocks away, and something just  _ told  _ me I had to come here.” He smiled, and Chloe felt the floor drop out from under them. “I guess someone’s watching out for me upstairs.”

She swallowed hard, not liking the picture he was painting. “Dad, you’ve been dead for seventeen years, aren’t you just the slightest bit  _ confused  _ as to why you’re back?”

The look in his eyes told her he hadn’t thought of that. “Who am I to question a miracle, Monkey? I love you and your mom, and that’s enough for me. I don’t need to know  _ why  _ I’m here, I just need my two favorite girls.” John touched her arm in an attempt to be comforting. It didn’t ease Chloe’s nerves.

She sneaked a peek at the time: 3:17AM. An hour until Lucifer would be home. Chloe reached to fill her wine glass a third time. She could hold out for another hour. She could pretend that everything was okay for  _ one more  _ hour. 

Chloe took a swig of her wine, not caring if the room was beginning to tilt. She took another, trying to dampen the god-awful thought that the man next to her was anyone but her father.

“Chloe?” John said gently. 

She didn’t meet his eyes in fear of finding hurt within them. Chloe let herself be swept up in the drunken dizziness that had settled in the corners of her mind. She listed heavily into John’s shoulder, all thoughts of zombies and angels being coated in a fuzzy sheen of alcohol. She could deal with them in an hour. For now she’d pretend.

“Tell me a story,” she mumbled sleepily like she used to when she was six.

John’s hand came to rest on her back. He’d started talking about something, Chloe could feel the rumble of his voice, but she couldn’t understand it. She tried to bring her glass to her lips to finish off the last of it, but her hand was numb. Everything was numb. 

Maybe for now that’s what she needed.

  
  


 

John had been staring at the pictures scattered around Chloe’s living room for what felt like forever. He’d all but memorized the size of the stab wounds on the first victim, and the cold face of the second one since she’d fallen asleep. But John couldn’t bring himself to care. He had Chloe back.

He glanced down at her in his arms. She was drooling on his shoulder and had taken over three fourths of the couch, but John had never loved her more. He searched her face for any trace of the girl he remembered. There was a heavy crease in her brow that he’d never seen before, and he hated to think about what had caused it.

John wished he could remember what had happened in between getting shot and now, if only to help her make sense of all of this. But out of those missing seventeen years he could only recall a dark silence and a hand clasping his. Every once and a while he’d look at something that would seem so  _ familiar,  _ but no matter how hard he racked his brain, the memories wouldn’t surface.

After a few minutes he’d just give up and let his thoughts wander to Chloe and Penny. 

Penny. One of the names John had hoped Chloe would mention but never did. He knew she and Chloe had never gotten along the best, especially as Chloe’d gotten older. John hated to think that they’d drifted completely apart from one another. He also hated to think he’d been the reason.

John vowed to ask Chloe about her in the morning. He just hoped he’d like the answer.

The sound of locks clicking made John tense and instinctively draw Chloe closer. He quickly scanned the room; Chloe’s gun was on the breakfast bar, out of reach. Before he could jump up to grab it, the door swung open. A man in a bespoke three piece suit strode through, jacket draped delicately over his arm. When his eyes fell on John, they were full of calculating intensity. Without even acknowledging him, the man closed the door quietly, tossed his keys on the kitchen table, and draped the jacket meticulously over a chair back.

Something about the practiced flourish of his fingers and the way his mouth quirked up brought on a new wave of familiarity. This was different than the other times. John knew for a fact that he’d seen this man before. When the man finally stepped into the living room, the memory clicked.

This was Chloe’s partner.

John extended his hand towards him. “John.”

The man’s dark eyes studied his outstretched hand before reaching out and shaking it. “I know.”

John’s grip almost slipped when he heard the gentle lilt of an accent roll off the man’s words.

As the handshake ended, the man’s gaze drifted to Chloe, his hard smirk seamlessly blooming into a dimpled smile. 

But in place of the soft smile, John saw a strained, all teeth grin cracking at the corners. He blinked and the memory was gone, replaced once more with reality.

_ Memory?  _ Why had he called it a memory? He'd never met this man before in his life. At least not that he remembered. 

John watched the man’s fingers card through Chloe’s hair, delicately sweeping it out of her face. She leaned sleepily into the touch, and his dark eyes teemed with a thousand unsaid words. Without revealing any of them to John, the man gathered Chloe into his arms.

“-cif’r?” she mumbled, seemingly still half asleep. The man gave a hum of affirmation, and Chloe buried her face into the crook of his neck, happily dozing off once more.

John selfishly wished the name on her lips hadn't been so muffled. There was something familiar about the oddly composed man. John had seen the pristine black waistcoat hugging his torso before. And the rich rumble of his voice had almost too easily found a center pitch in his ears, as if it was a forgotten melody from his past rather than a strange new sound from his future.

John had seen this man before, he was certain of it.

“Wine makes her tired,” the man said, almost absently to himself.

John blinked again, filing his puzzle away for later. “What?”

“Wine makes her tired.” He shuffled Chloe in his arms, as if to clarify which “her” he was referring to. “It's nothing you did.”

“I didn't think I did anything. It's 4:30 in the morning.”

The man cocked his head, another familiar tic. “Yes well, I'm going to put the Detective in bed. I'll be down in a moment to sort…” Another head tilt. “ _ This  _ out.”

John almost asked to follow him, afraid if Chloe left his sight, all of this would dissolve into nothingness. But instead, he kept his mouth shut and watched the man disappear up the stairs. When he was certain he was gone, John stood, muscles stiff from supporting Chloe for so long. He stretched, gathered up the wine glasses and almost-empty bottle, and took them to the kitchen.

It was only as he was washing the glasses out that the harsh reality settled in: he was useless to Chloe. Before, it had always been his job as her father to dry her tears, hold her when she was upset, and take care of her when she was sick. But a lot had changed in seventeen years. Chloe had  _ him  _ now. 

John wasn’t blind, he hadn’t missed the fact that this man had ran out in the middle of the night for Chloe, or that he’d lifted her as if she’d weighed nothing. Clearly John’s role had been filled for quite some time now. God help that man if he ever decided to give it up.

“Right, now unless you have any pressing questions I think we can save all talks of  resurrected family members until the morning, yes?”

John jumped, and nearly dropped the glass he was drying. “ _Jesus.”_ He whipped around to find Chloe’s partner fiddling with his cufflinks and giving him an expectant look. John hadn’t even heard him come down the stairs.

The man smirked. “Not exactly, I’m afraid.” He clasped his hands together, the dim lighting casting menacing shadows across his face, triggering another memory in John’s brain. “You can stay in Maze’s room, she’s out on a bounty.”

Without waiting for John’s response, the man began walking towards the stairs. John hastily set the glass down, and scrambled to catch up to his host. He didn’t know who Maze was or really what anything else in that sentence meant, but he had a feeling he really didn’t want to.

The man lead him to the end of a dark hall, without so much as a glance back to make sure John was still following. Finally, he stopped in front of a door, and eased it open with his shoulder. John couldn’t make out much in the dark, save for the outline of a bed and were those  _ chains?  _

He gulped. What the hell was this woman mixed up in? And how the hell had Chloe  _ met  _ her?

The man chuckled. “You’re lucky, the sheets are clean. Just don’t look too closely in any of the drawers.” He gave a cursory glance at John, seemingly satisfied with his hospitality, and began to walk away.

John stood in the doorway, speechless. He stared at the room for a few seconds, before turning back with an undoubtedly stupefied look on his face. He found Chloe’s partner with his hand on a door handle at the opposite end of the hall. 

“Um...thank you?” He said lamely.

The man’s eyes hardened. For a brief moment, they bored into John’s, until he nodded solemnly and vanished into the room. As the door clicked shut, John heard a few drunken snores coming from inside. 

That was Chloe’s room.  _ And apparently sometimes her partner’s _ , he thought bitterly.

He turned back to his room for the night, not wanting to think about  _ that  _ anymore. But his thoughts drifted there anyways, and John found himself thinking once more about the strangely familiar man that had replaced him.

For some reason, John thought there was something missing to the man. He tried to sort through what it could be for a few minutes, but when his brain refused to cooperate, he shook his head and walked into the bedroom.

Whatever it was, it was waiting until the morning. It was obvious that the man would never hurt Chloe, so what was the point in worrying about him right now?

John shifted his attention to the more important matter at hand: sleep. He stared mournfully at the sheets that were  _ supposedly  _ clean, then glanced around the rest of the room. When his eyes caught sight of a whip, he’d made up his mind. Sighing, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed, not bothering to even try to pull back the comforter. He shut his eyes, trying to forget that there were leather  _ somethings _ hanging on the back of the door.

And when John drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of straight-laced wings and snarling shadows.

 

  
  
  
John woke with the taste of tar in his mouth.

He’d had the weirdest dream...that he couldn’t remember at all. Oh, he was certain he’d  _ had _ a dream last night, he just couldn’t remember  _ anything about it.  _ Nor could he recall what had woken him up. Before he died, he’d always been able to remember what had woken him up, whether it was Chloe sneaking home after curfew or the rare thunderstorm. Now he had no clue. 

John sighed. It was disorientating to just not  _ know _ anymore. He was used to knowing what to do, how to help, but now his family had learned to function without him. He was basically useless. John wouldn’t be lying if he said it stung a little. But wounded pride or not, John was going to figure out what woke him up. He could at least do that.

The pathetic excuse for sunlight peeking through the blinds told him it was early morning or early evening. He hoped the latter wasn’t the case. Either way, it was unlikely the sun had woken him up. A quick check around the room, and silence on the other side of the door also ruled out Chloe or her partner waking him.

John sat up. What could it  _ be _ _?_ He had to know.

He allowed his eyes to drift closed as he took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of...eggs? John’s eyes popped back open. 

Eggs. He smelled eggs.

John scoffed to himself. He’d been woken up by  _ eggs,  _ of all things. He took another breath, and this time his stomach rumbled angrily in response. Now that was something that made sense. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten.

John shrugged, it was weird. He felt pretty good for a guy who’d been dead for seventeen years and only three hours of sleep. 

Seventeen years. God that was a long time. John couldn’t even fathom the number of changes that had occurred since his death. Before his train of thought could go  _ too  _ far down that road, John packed all of his feelings into a box in the back of his mind, not wanting to face all of the baggage attached to them  _ just _ yet. Instead, he let his stomach guide him out of the room and down the stairs. 

He half-expected to see Chloe at the stove, but when John saw her partner in her place, he couldn’t help but feel cheated. John looked around for any sight of her, but when Chloe was nowhere to be found, John pulled out a bar stool and sat down.

The man’s back was to John, fiddling with something in the skillet. The black suit from the night before had been replaced with a soft charcoal one. He seemed more relaxed than he had the last time John had seen him. The tension in his back was still obvious, but today it didn’t look as painful as it had before.

“Jonathan,” the man greeted without turning around.

Suddenly, something inside John broke and his mind went deathly silent. “What did you call me?” 

The man finally turned to face him, skillet full of eggs in hand. An odd look crossed his face. “Your name,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The Earth seemed to stop turning. John felt himself beginning to shut down, as his mind began to work out everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. His heart was pounding in his ears, and every instinct was telling him to  _ run.  _

He knew why this man seemed so familiar now. A pit was forming in his stomach just thinking about it.

“You’re the angel.” John hadn’t meant to say it like that, but something had just forced the words up his throat.

Chloe’s partner had the audacity to look surprised. “Not anymore.” 

“You had  _ wings  _ when we met,” John sputtered. 

The man cocked his head to the side. It was a perfect recreation of the one from John’s memory of Limbo. “We’ve never met.” 

John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew their meeting had been real. He  _ needed  _ it to be real. “Yes we have. In Limbo.”

The man’s spine straightened, just as it had when they’d reached Heaven. Slowly, without ever breaking eye contact, he scraped the eggs onto a plate. Something akin to understanding colored in his dark eyes, and his jaw clenched. “Now I remember you.” His voice pitched low and predatory, just as it had in Limbo. John refused to be intimidated by it. Without the wings accentuating the man’s looming stature, it was easier to pretend he was  _ just _ a man. “I never forget a face.”

John decided not to tell him he just did. “Why are you here?” He asked instead. “Where are your wings?” When the angel remained silent, John fought the sudden urge to run upstairs and check on Chloe. “What do you want with _ Chloe? _ ”

The angel’s fingers twitched at Chloe’s name.

He carefully set down the empty skillet. “To be fair, you  _ were  _ the one who suggested LA. As for my wings--” he paused, eyes glazing over for a beat before winking back into focus. “They’re gone.”

“And Chloe?” 

The angel cracked a small, brittle smile. “The Detective was...unexpected.”

He was avoiding the question, but John let it slide, if only for a moment. He knew he’d get his answer eventually. “Why aren’t you in Heaven?”

The angel’s smile morphed into an outright frown.

_ Bingo.  _

John hadn’t forgotten about how dismissive the angel had been towards Heaven in Limbo _._ The fact that his back had tensed in the same exact way as it had last time, told John he’d hit a nerve. And if there was one thing John remembered from his time on the force, it was that irritated suspects were always truthful ones.

The angel’s eyes narrowed. “Have some brekkie, Jonathan.”

Just as he’d thought: avoiding the question. John pressed him again. “I never caught your name.” The threat under the words was evident. 

“It’s not important.”

“I think it is.”

Just as the angel was about to reply, footsteps sounded on the staircase.

“Lucifer?” Chloe’s voice called.

Whatever thoughts swirled around in John’s head melted with the frown on his lips. 

No. There was no way he’d heard that right.

The angel was still frozen in place, but his eyes had flicked in the direction of the name.  _ His  _ name, John realized with a feeling of dread settling in his throat.

“Lucifer?” Chloe called again.

The angel’s eyes locked back on John’s before he answered. “Yes, love?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm needy but thanks for putting up with it moonatoms and titc ;) pats and cats all around.

**Author's Note:**

> Pats and cats to titc!


End file.
